“Come, Toussaint,” she encouraged, pausing to scoop his jeans from the floor. “I’ll take you home now.” He let Lindsey take his hand and she led him across the lobby to the rear doors and out into the garden. They walked hand in hand along the stoney path and she couldn’t help but admire the timber and sway of his p***s at each step. A heart rendering loneliness swelled and she felt like she was breaking apart inside.
“Oh Toussaint,” Lindsey cried in despair. “Where are you? Do you feel anything?” And turning into his chest, she tried to wrap her arms around him, desperately wanting him to return the warmth. But there was nothing; only the smell of sweat mingled with Muriel’s heady lust. “Come on, baby,” she said, giving it up and dropping her arms. “The shower is right here. Let me wash
